


Cold Coffee

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e22 Posse Comitatus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-07
Updated: 2006-01-07
Packaged: 2019-05-15 13:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14791055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: CJ sits in a diner, eating, drinking, but not tasting much.





	Cold Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Cold Coffee**

**by:** Clannadlvr 

**Character(s):** CJ, Simon  
**Pairing(s):** CJ/Simon  
**Category(s):** Angst/Post Ep  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Summary:** CJ sits in a diner, eating, drinking, but not tasting much.  
**Spoiler:** "Posse Comitatus"  
**Written:** 2005-10-14  


** 

CJ hasn't had great luck with men. 

She thinks about this while sitting on cracked vinyl, staring listlessly at a cup of cold coffee and a slice of apple pie with filling straight out of a can. 

First there was Jackie Russell in 8th grade. The other kids used to make fun of him for being named after a dog, but Claudia Jean had taken pity on him. And hey, since he'd been the only guy taller then her in middle school, a peck on the lips was the least she could do. 

Then there was high school and the few guys who saw past her glasses, debate club and gangliness to realize she actually had a figure, but very few who saw more than that. Even Kevin, her only significant beau at the time, had been more interested in trying to worm his hands up her shirt than debating the finer points of social politics and the rights of the weak. 

She'd kicked him to the curb soon enough. 

Through college there was Rick and Dave and Slade…god, had she thought she was in a soap opera? What other reason was there for dating a guy with that manufactured of a name? Well, there was the fact that he was good in bed, but that didn't mean much past the first few weeks they were together. Joe, who had been the only serious boyfriend during her university years, had been different, willing to talk about his feelings, his thoughts, his fears and dreams…which was why CJ hadn't been too surprised when, five years after they'd broken up, Joe had his commitment ceremony with Paul and moved to Beverly. 

She was happy for them. Honestly. What more could she do for the man who had given her the most fulfilling relationship she'd had to date? 

In the years between then and the White House, she'd gone on dates and had a few somewhat meaningful liaisons, but nothing that had really made her pause and think about, even for a moment, disrupting her life for the sake of someone else. 

That's when she realized that the man she would want and need would have to be a part of her life, rather than an addendum. 

Still, dating was the farthest thing from her mind when she started working for Jed Bartlet. For the first year in office, she'd been so paranoid about making a mistake that the opposite sex barely registered- when it did, it was in the context of press briefings about women's rights and the politics of Qumar. 

But then…there was Danny. He'd fit into her notion of a prospective mate as integrated into her life. Sure, it was complicated. There was a conflict of interest, no doubt. But he'd given her a goldfish. Even their differences in opinion were mediated by his visitation of Gail. 

For a moment she'd thought she'd found a guy, no matter the complications, who was willing to forgive her height, her forthrightness, and her position of power in order to warm to her touch and join her in banter. 

Then he was gone, off on assignment and relegated to just a bittersweet memory. 

Time had passed and now here she was, ignoring cold caffeine, bathed in the lights of Times Square and feeling more alone than she'd ever had during her years of Ricks and Joes and Dannys. 

Because for the first time in her life, she'd met someone on the job who seemed to see more of Claudia Jean than just the height, the intelligence, the Press Secretary. Even though they'd never talked about it, she knew, just as she knew he loved his adopted little brother, that he saw past CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary, to something no one had ever seen before. To the woman. 

For a brief shining moment, when he'd kissed her- no, when they'd kissed each other- she'd felt herself valued as more than the sum of her parts, with the promise of things she couldn't yet imagine. Her heart had rejoiced, had never felt so full as it had on a Manhattan sidewalk. 

Then just one short entr'acte and it was gone. 

A senseless act, a man too cocksure, and she was left with cold coffee and a solidifying pastry. 

She stretches her hands, reaching for the mug lined with fissures and stains, imagining the warmth that had once been inside. The porcelain feels like her face, the strains and fault lines visible to anyone who looks close enough. His death is only thirty minutes old and already she feels like it's been thirty years. And that it's kept on happening over and over again. 

CJ dimly acknowledges the sounds of Toby and Sam as they enter the diner, their hushed voices fading into the background of honking cabs and drunken tourists. Her eyes unfocused, she barely notices when they slide across from her in the booth, Toby's uncertain hands brushing her own, Sam's movie star gaze entreating her across an expanse of fading tile and coffee stains. 

She lets them lead her from her seat, bundling her up, though she doesn't really hear the words they speak and barely acknowledges their murmurs of condolence. 

All she knows is the sound the single bullet she'd fired in the shooting range a few days before as it pierced the paper of the target…and the way she can only imagine it sounding as it traveled through flesh. 

As they lead her to the Secret Service escorted convoy, she wonders if coffee and apple pie will ever taste the same way again. 

*** 


End file.
